


fugitive

by iampeterparker



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Hurt Peter Parker, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, On the Run, Peter Parker & Shuri Friendship, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Sokovia Accords, The Raft Prison (Marvel), Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-09-12 17:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16877136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iampeterparker/pseuds/iampeterparker
Summary: Escape.He needed to escape.Aside from that unhelpful thought, the last thing Peter remembered was the tall grass scratching against his skin as it crumpled and crunched beneath his now seemingly lifeless body.***note added on july 17, 2019:taking a break from this fic to work on my other 'On the Run' fic. if you're interested, please read that in the meantime, and i will get back to this fic once that one is completed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ik what ur thinking. “@impeterparker why aren’t you continuing ‘on the run’ u haven’t updated that fic in mOntHs” 
> 
> well, here’s the dealio 
> 
> life decided to gimme a big smack in the face and i’m gonna busy until like the summer so that’s nice. i found a little bit of time to write tonight buuutt i wasn’t in the mood to continue ‘on the run’ because well, i don’t know.
> 
> and since i have about a million fan fic ideas rn
> 
> i decided to start writing this one since i feel good about it and i’ve been thinking about it for a while
> 
> i also wrote a majority of the first chapter with pen and paper (if i do creative writing on pen and paper that means i’m rlly passionate about it because that just never happens oops) during class.
> 
> so, yeah, don’t worry, ‘on the run’ will be updated eventually, just not soon. i’ll try to write as much as possible of this fic tonight before i go back to being busy or whatever. :(
> 
> anyways enjoy

**PROLOGUE**

 

Peter shivered as his toes touched the cold surface of the tiles, unconsciously trying to scratch the tender skin that was hidden by the heavy metal piece wrapped around his neck. He was tempted to tear off his… _uniform_ and just take a shower and do whatever else he was told to do. Do what he had been doing for the eternity that he spent here. But he spent too many sleepless nights planning for this day to give up now.

The creaking of the pipes behind the wall was followed by a rush of water pouring out from the shower head, and Peter jumped into action.

_03:00._

Peter pulled out the standing-bar of the shower and used his strength to pull it off the wall, praying that the sound of the water was enough to mask the sound of metal being ripped apart. Before the sliding shower door could automatically close and lock itself, he shoved the bar in between the door and the wall, preventing it from closing. After squeezing through the opening, he jumped onto the roof and crawled (more like waddled, considering the tight cuffs around his wrists didn’t allow for too much movement) out through the opening above the door (initially meant for the release of steam, not wall-crawling spider humans, which was honestly just a bad decision on their part) and dropped down in front of the security guard that was _supposed_ to be waiting for Peter to complete his usual timed three minute shower.

This was his least favorite part of the plan.

But he was desperate.

The guard looked at Peter and held up a remote caused him to shudder before throwing an unsuspected fist at the man’s face, who stumbled into the wall in return. Peters fingers then wrapped around the guard’s neck, squeezing harder and harder as he remembered every terrible thing that led to this day. The fear. The nightmares. The cold. The confusion. The _pain_. They never even let him say goodbye to-

Peter backed away from the limp body and shook his thoughts away, not willing to risk wasting any more time than he already has. He dug into the pockets of the guard and found the keys to the cuffs and a security access card. Using the key to release the vibranium cuffs from his wrists and the card to open the door to the shower room, he drags the body into the room and locks the door.

_01:34._

He took too long.

Peter returned to the wall and climbed around the corner.

_Hall number 12. Guard number 83 covers this area every day exactly one minute into his shower, so he should pass this corner in 3, 2-_

Peter pressed his back against the corner of the wall, waiting for the footsteps to pass while closing his eyes and thanking himself for remembering the shifts correctly. Once the guard passed, Peter turned his head to listen to the silent whirring of the security cameras that changed direction at a five-second interval. 

_TZZZ,_

_5_

Peter leaped onto the other side of the hallway

_4_

He bit onto the side of his cheek violently at the loss of balance when his foot didn’t stick to the wall properly.

_3_

Peter sucked in a breath, ignoring the warm liquid leaking from where he bit his cheek.

_2_

His left hand stretched out in reflex and grabbed onto the camera.

_1_

Peter’s hands held onto the side of the camera, causing him to turn with it as it changed direction.

_00:36_

If this wasn’t a life or death situation, he probably would have laughed.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

_00:29_

Peter crawled above the camera and rushed towards the elevator, pausing to hide behind the wall of a different hallway everytime a guard was near.

_00:24_

He sat on the roof beside the elevator, staying out of the sight of any cameras. He rubbed the sweat forming on his palm against the rough fabric of his uniform, trying not to think about the way his aunt would rub the hem of her own shirt when she was nervous.

_00:17_

He didn’t seem to notice that he had been doing the same with his shirt.

 _00:09_  
  
Peter could hear the sound of the gears and wires of the elevator turning and clanging.

_00:08_

It slowly lowered to the bottom level of containment for creatures like himself.

_00:07_

A drip of sweat traveled down the side of his face.

  
_00:06_

Waves of nausea flooded within him as his heart rate increased.

_00:05_

_God, he was so close._

_00:04_

Where would he even go? Home? Is that even possible at this point? Is his home even safe? Is-

_00:03_

Maybe he could go out and try some real food again. This place had _terrible_ service.

_00:02_

Speaking of, does Yelp happen to review prisons? Specifically ones that lie in the middle of the Atlantic for enhanced individuals?

_00:01_

Yeah, he didn't think so.

_00:00_

Peter could hear the shower turn off from a few halls down where he was before.

After a few seconds passed, red filled the room.

Alarms blared loudly in his ears.

He resisted the urge to cover them.

The repetitive flashing and spinning alarm lights overwhelmed his sight.

The sound of the elevator coming to a stop two floors above was followed by a storm of footsteps; the guards were coming for Peter.

Peter’s plan was now falling into place. Sure, he had the security card to access the elevator, but getting _inside_ required a fingerprint (and Peter _definitely_ wasn’t going to cut that security cards finger off like they do in the movies). So, that’s why he had to risk having the guards come for him in order for him to sneak into the elevator unnoticed.

Hopefully.

The elevator hit the floor with a heavy _bang_ causing Peter to flinch. He clung to the roof tightly, his fingers digging into the ceiling unintentionally.

The doors slid open and Peter rushed in, sitting on the roof while trying to control his beating heart that threatened to jump out of his chest as it thumped loudly in his ears. The guards spilled out of the elevator and Peter found himself alone, slowly moving to the top floor.

He winced as he glanced at the sight of the second floor; the memory of the dark walls of solitary confinement suffocating him was still fresh. That was a dark time, even for a place like this.

The doors slid back open and Peter’s heart sank.

Another round of guards were being sent into the elevator.

He did not consider this while planning. _Did they really need that many guards to contain him?_

Peter pressed himself into the corner of the ceiling hoping they would get into the elevator and out as quick as possible. He couldn’t risk crawling out and getting caught.

The second batch of security filled the elevator and stared at the door ahead of them. A man in the middle held an intercom against his ear. It beeped every few seconds signaling a voice on the other side of the radio channel.

“Guards 40-65 are on standby in the lift.” The man said into the radio.

“ _The containment level is all clear._ ” A voice responded.

“Second floor?”

“ _All clear as well._ ”

“Alright, I’m making the call.” The man pulled out a remote, and the sight of it sent chills down Peter’s spine. Before he had time to react, it was too late. White-hot pain blinded him as every muscle in Peter’s body convulsed as he dropped to the ground, causing the man to drop the remote in response. Pain spread throughout his body and his neck burned but Peter pushed through it, - screaming in the process - and shoved his fist into the face of the nearest guard, unable to handle any more of their control. He was sick of the remote, sick of his cell, sick of being treated as inhuman.

He was sick of being in the Raft.

It was time to escape.

Peter lost control of himself as he kicked down the feet of multiple guards, throwing his fists left and right out of defense in a red-hot rage, his longing to be free taking over.

In a matter of minutes, everyone was on the ground and Peter was surrounded by their bodies.

He never wanted to be like this.

He became Spider-Man to prevent violence, not for situations like this.

He sat silently in the middle of the pile of bodies, waiting patiently for the elevator to move back up to the main floor once again.

Peter the doors open once it came to a stop and twisted metal with the remaining strength he had, preventing the doors from closing again. He found himself dragging himself across the helipad for the helicarriers, making his way to the main control room. His muscles ached with pain as he winced at every step. The exit was so close, but his shock collar had a radius that would never let him leave unless it was removed or expanded. He used the stolen security card to unlock the main control room door. Walking inside, he was greeted by the terrified expressions of the Rafts Information Technology workers, but Peter was too exhausted to care.

All the guards were trapped on the bottom floor due to the.. blockage in the elevator? Peter didn’t feel like thinking about how he managed to clog up an elevator with the bodies of the people who kept him here. Sure, they treated him terribly, but they probably had families, and considering how badly they all failed at their job, they’re definitely going to be fired soon. Sorry?

_Some of them might even be dead._

Peter definitely didn’t feel like thinking about that, either (which is obvious, considering how he refuses to take notice of the blood on his hands).

That explains why no one in the control room had tried attacking him, yet.

He limped across the room, avoiding eye contact. The man sitting at one of the desks moved aside when Peter walked up to his computer. Peter nodded at him before typing away at the computer, searching through the long list of protocols and algorithms designed for the Raft in order to contain its prisoners. He found the shock collar that was connected to his cell number and selected the option to disable the shock collar. Then selected it again. And again. And again, until tears began to well in the corners of his eyes when the collar didn’t budge and his eyes caught sight of the fingerprint ID request.

The request for Thaddeus Ross’s fingerprint.

Peter muttered a curse under his breath and turned to the Raft workers that sat in their chairs, watching Peter. One woman turned to walk towards Peter before another man grabbed her shoulder and shook his head. She pulled her arm from his grip and continued walking towards Peter.

“None of us can take it off, but we can help you get out of here.” The woman said.

“Are you kidding? The kid just took down a quarter of our staff, Ross is gonna be here any minute, Dr. Saifi.” Another woman spoke aloud before Peter could respond.

“That’s exactly why we should hurry. We all know they can’t fire us with the information we know, and they won’t let us off easy either. We should all leave. Ross went too far with this, anyways, we expected the Raft to fall apart soon enough. Serves ‘em right for bringing in a minor.” The woman - Dr. Saifi - turns to face Peter sympathetically. “I can’t take off the collar, and it’ll kill you if you try leaving with it on, but I can expand the radius to 10,000 kilometers. There’s a place about 8,000 kilometers east from here. I’ll download the directions onto a boat that should be at the dock in a few minutes. You should leave now before someone comes for you.”

“I-”

“And I know it’s hard to trust someone who played a part in keeping you here in this prison, but it’s the only choice you have.”

“Why’re you helpin’me?” Peter slurred, still dazed from the collar.

“We all know about what you do in New York. While everyone here may not agree,” She said, glaring at a man in the corner of the room, “The work you’ve done is important, and you shouldn’t be locked away for it.”

For the first time in the months that Peter was here, his spidey-sense was silent.

At this point, he didn’t even bother blinking away his tears. He wasn’t sad, Peter was sure of that.

He was free.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each escape attempt failed. So he gave up. He thought out a plan. He waited. He kept waiting and waiting. Every day the walls felt like they were closing in on him. He couldn’t stand the constant buzz in the back of his head, warning him of the danger surrounding him. He couldn’t stand the constant schedule of waking up, eating, pain, eat again, and sleep. Then repeat. Blotches of crimson were splattered across the floor and the walls and he watched them dry and become solid and brown, day after day after day after day after-

_One, two, three._

 

Peter’s steps matched the numbers he had been chanting in his head for the past few hours.

 

_One, two, three._

 

The beeping of his collar meant he was near the end of the radius. He _had_ to be close to.. wherever the workers from the Raft were sending him.

 

_Just keep running, Peter._

 

What if they lied?

 

_Don’t stop, almost there._

 

He had been telling himself that for the past few days.

 

_One, two, three._

 

His body couldn’t handle it anymore. He was _exhausted_.

 

_One, two, three. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in-_

 

Peter kept running with no intention to stop despite the burning in his lungs, the neverending grumbling of his stomach, and his longing for fresh water. It felt like he hadn’t eaten in years. Based on his calculations before escaping The Raft Prison, however, it had to have been a few days. It was a small meal that he regretfully stole from a market in a small town many kilometers away from where he was now. The guilt was masked by hunger. On the boat that Dr. Saifi had instructed him to get onto, there was plenty of food.

 

For people with normal metabolisms, that is.

 

After days of sitting on the boat and rationing food to the best of his ability, it almost felt as if his spider-side had gotten sick of it, and someone managed to take over as he ripped apart the last few packages of food. After that, he spent three whole days without any food at all (besides his terrible attempt to fish for food).

 

Eventually, he woke up to find his boat at the coast of what he believed to be the African continent, probably near Senegal.

 

Considering the native language of Senegal was French, Peter didn’t have much luck trying to find help.

 

 _‘Bonjour, monsieur? Madame? Qui suis je?’_ He had asked, hoping it made sense.

 

Peter later realized he had been asking random people ‘who am I?’ rather than ‘where am I?’ with a terrible accent. That’s when he began to regret taking Spanish instead of French (probably not his worst problem, but definitely worth considering later, if- _when_ he gets back home).

 

He continued his journey regardless, though, by clinging onto the back of random cars and walking for miles with no idea of where he was going or why. All he knew was that he had to keep moving East until his collar informed him that he was nearing the end of his radius. It took him a while to finally hear the collar inform him of his distance from the radius. It began with a quiet _beep_ sound, and occurred every few minutes.

 

Now, however, the constant beeping of the collar was getting old, and he heard it every few seconds.

 

The moment the roads ended and Peter had assumedly traveled through Senegal, Mali, and Niger, he hit miles of dry, tall grass and trees, leading to this very moment.

 

How Peter was still standing, he couldn’t say. He could barely keep his eyes open, and the hope that encouraged him to keep moving was fading. The pace of the collars beeping sped every few miles, signaling that even one step past the radius would initiate a deadly electrocution.

 

Maybe it was for the best.

 

_No, keep going, Spider-Man. They said it would be here._

 

What was he looking for, again?

 

_One, two, three._

 

Getting back to New York on a boat seemed pretty impossible considering he was in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with a 10,000-kilometer limit.

 

Following the instructions of The Raft workers was his last hope.

 

Now, he was in the middle of Africa with no way to contact anyone. Ross must be searching for him now. He had seen some strange helicarrier-like figures flying around the area for some time. They were definitely searching for him, or maybe they already found him and they were just waiting for him to collapse from exhaustion or hunger.

 

Before he escaped, he felt that anything was better than sitting in a cell alone, waiting for Ross’s men to cut open his skin and test his DNA. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

 

 _No, he_ was _sure._

 

He had to be close.

 

_He had to._

 

Peter still didn’t know what he was close to, though. The Raft workers never told him. Maybe the _others_ were there ( _would that be a good thing or a bad thing? Peter wasn’t sure)_ , or maybe no one is there at all and he actually _will_ die of starvation or disease or thirst or even _killed_.

 

Yeah, yeah. Maybe it was for the best.

 

_No, no, no._

 

_One, two, three._

 

_One, two, three._

 

He kept the beat replaying in his mind along with each heavy step against the grassland as he continued running, panting, and crawling until his eyes began to well with tears. His vision blurred, sound seemed distant, and his body felt numb.

 

The last thing Peter remembered was the tall grass crunching and crumbling beneath the weight of his now seemingly lifeless body.

 

* * *

 

 

Lights.

 

Is he dead? It’s so bright.

 

* * * * *

 

_“Mr. Stark, please, just gimme a sec., okay?”_

 

_“What? What’s happening, kid?”_

 

_“Just- lower your voice, please-”_

 

_“FRIDAY, what’s happening to him?” the man whispered._

 

_“I’m suspecting signs of sensory overload, though he does not seem to be experiencing an anxiety attack. It’s possible his enhanced senses were triggered, causing this reaction.”_

 

_“Bright…” The boy mumbled to himself._

 

_“Dim the lights, Fri. And close all the windows. Come on, Peter, breathe.”_

 

_* * * * *_

 

_“Peter, if this is another spider-ing related injury, I swear I’ll kick Stark’s ass myself-” The older Parker paused at the sight of Peter covering his ears and closing his eyes. She dimmed the lights and closed the door._

 

_Peter could feel the bed shift and squinted his eyes, slowly reopening them. May sat beside him and reached out for his hand._

 

_He put his hand in hers._

 

_“Breathe with me, Peter. In - one, two, three - out - one, two three. Again. In-”_

 

_* * * * *_

 

Unable to focus his eyes on anything recognizable, Peter tried listening. He could hear clicks and beeping and whirring sounds from what seemed to be a large amount of machinery, but none of it sounded familiar.

 

Once his eyes adjusted, Peters' eyes darted back and forth, trying to understand his... unfamiliar surroundings.

 

_Huh. At least he wasn’t strapped to a lab table in The Raft Prison, right? Positivity. Aunt May taught him all about that. He hoped he was doing it right._

 

He rubbed his eyes, finally beginning to see clearly, and turned to see a large room with white walls and blue windows, as well as a large staircase in the center of the room with brightly colored art. The room was bright and surrounding Peter was multitudes of holograms and other tech that he had never seen before.

 

He noticed a mask on his face that looked like an oxygen mask, just without the wires and such. Weird. A hologram that read his vitals hovered by his face. He wasn’t hooked up to any machine, though. _What?_

 

Peter’s head turned at the sound of footsteps and saw a girl walking down the stairs, typing away at a floating screen, probably a hologram as well. He pulled off his oxygen mask and sat up abruptly, instantly regretting the action as the room began to spin.

“Ugh,” he groaned, holding a hand against his head while his stomach twisted into a knot and the room began to spin.

 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” A young voice chanted quickly, rushing over to his side to help him. “Don’t move. You’re very weak.”

 

As the figure taps their.. _wrist? bracelet?_ , the top portion black platform that Peter had been laying on rose upwards. The person gently eased his head and set it onto the platform, and Peter sighed as his head sank into it like it would on a pillow (though it felt more like soft metal in comparison to a fabric pillow).

 

“You slept for a while.”

 

“Where ‘m I?” Peter asked, cringing at the sound of his voice. Suddenly, the table that he’s laying on curves upwards, slowly pushing him into a full sitting position.

 

“What the hell?” Peter glanced around nervously. He rubbed his eyes, still trying to blink the light out of his eyes until the person who seems to be taking care of him somehow dims the lights. He looks at the figure - a girl, probably around his age, is standing by his side.

 

“Where am I?” He asked again. “Do I know you?”

 

“No questions until my brother arrives.” The girl responded. “Sensory overload, hm?.” She notes aloud, examining Peter’s expression. “I dimmed the lights for you. No need to worry. Calm down, you’re safe here, Parker.”

 

“How do you know my name?”

 

“What did I say about asking questions?” She asked, but no anger was apparent in her tone.

 

Peter stayed silent after that. Anxiety brewed in his chest as minutes passed by. The girl continued typing on what seemed to be a computer while Peter tried to listen for something familiar outside of the room. It felt impossibly quiet, though, even with his enhanced hearing.

 

“I can hear you over thinking from here.” The girl spoke up, still typing away at her computer. “You need to rest.”

 

“I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s kinda hard to do that given my current situation.”

 

“Oh really?” The girl replied, smirking at him. “I figured it would be easy for someone with a metabolism like yours to be exhausted after days of travel.”

 

“What do you mean?” Peter gawked at her, his eyes glancing back and forth between the girl and his increasing heart rate as shown on the hologram beside him. His senses were silent, so he knew she most probably meant no harm, but the idea of someone willing to send him back to _that place_ , especially after _everything he went through-_

 

“Where did you come from, Peter Parker? We found you lying in the grass a few miles out from here. Malnutrition, exhaustion, dehydration, multiple internal injuries-”

 

“Where is here, exactly?”

 

The girl examined him for a few moments before responding again. “Hm. You really don’t know?”

 

“Am I supposed to?”

 

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

 

“How do I know if I can trust you?”

 

“You don’t remember, but I saved your life. You almost died. You don’t know where you are or how to escape this,” The girl flicked the cold metal collar that sat around his neck, and Peter’s expression fell as he remembered it was here. “What other choice do you have?”

 

“I think,” Peter sighed. “I think was traveling through Niger. Hitched a ride with someone. Then I traveled in through this huge grassland, and that’s all I remember.”

 

“Where did you come from?”

 

“Uh, New York?”

 

“No, no, I mean how did you get here?”

 

Silence.

 

“You’re from the Raft, hm? You escaped?”

 

Peter attempted to swallow the lump in his throat, unable to answer.

 

“Don’t worry, We’re not going to take you back there.”

 

“‘We’? Who’s ‘we?’”

 

“You’re in Wakanda, Peter. We help all of those who are taken as prisoners to the Raft ever since Rogers escaped. I honestly thought you would figure it out sooner. You Americans really are slow.” She rolled her eyes at the thought, but still held a comforting gaze at him.

 

The gears in Peter’s mind turned and clicked as all the pieces were pulled together.

 

“You’re-” Peter choked out. “You’re Princess Shuri. And.. this is _your_ lab. Oh my _God_ I’m sorry, I-”

 

“Just call me Shuri. You know about my lab?” She interrupted, quick to change the topic.

 

“Y-Yes, all about it! I-I mean, I’ve read about it, here and there, y’know, from the news?” He said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. It wasn’t a common occurance to have one of your idols save your life after escaping a high profile underwater prison for enhanced individuals. “After the King - your _brother_ -revealed the truth about Wakanda’s tech and all- I happened to read all about your work. I just.. Wow, I can’t believe this-” A wide grin formed on Peter’s face and Shuri couldn’t help but smile in return.

 

“Ah, well, I’m glad I was able to be a bit of service in making you feel better after everything you’ve been through.” Shuri.  The Raft is a terrible place, I’ve heard. It’s Wakanda’s promise to keep you safe now until we manage to… _fix_ the Accords.”

 

“So.. I’m not going back?”

 

“As long as you’re here? Never.”

 

Peter covered his mouth, his eyes darted to the roof in order to stop the tears forming in his eyes. Although he wasn’t officially free, considering he still had the collar on,

 

“I, uh-“ Peter cleared his throat awkwardly, pushing away any emotions fighting to take over. “What about my.. family?”

 

“Your aunt? As soon as we found out about you being detained, we took immediate action to find her and make sure she was safe. It was an unusual protocol but my brother insisted the action once we discovered who you were, Spider-Man.”

 

“Who else knows?”

 

“Just T’Challa and I, don’t worry.” Shuri responded, noticing how tense he had been. “We tried to track her but unfortunately we lost her after quite a while.”

 

“Did you go to my apartment?”

 

“I’m not supposed to tell you much abo-“

 

“Did you go to my apartment? I need to know. Did you notice anything weird in my room?”

 

Shuri bit her lip, hesitating with her response. “I can check our cameras. Technically I am not supposed to show you since yo

U are a ‘potential threat’ but I highly doubt you’d attack anyone.”

 

“Uh, what? Er- nevermind. Can I see?”

 

Shuri taps her bracelet, and a hologram overs over her wrist in response. Peter leans over to look.  

 

She opens the camera view of Peter’s room.

 

* * * * *

 

_“May, can I talk to you?”_

 

_“You’re still up? Peter, you haven’t slept enough in days, we talked about this. Did you go Spider-ing without telling me?”_

 

_“No, no, I just can’t sleep.”_

 

_“You wanna sit?”_

 

 _Peter nodded and sat next to May, the mattress dipping down from his weight. She set down he book she had been_ trying _to read and turned to face him._

 

_“What’s up?” She asked._

 

_“Can you do me a favor?”_

 

_“Oh, uh, sure, what is it?”_

 

_“If anything..” Peter looks down at the floor. “If anything happens to me-“_

 

_“Oh, Peter don’t say that-“_

 

_“May, please, listen. If anything happens to me, and I don’t show up here to check in in over 36  hours, I want you to run. Can you do that for me?”_

 

_“Peter..”_

 

_“No matter what happens, don’t leave from the front door, don’t go to the elevator. Go straight to my room and leave from the fire escape. Make sure to close the window. Get out of here as fast as you can. And before you leave, make sure to grab every picture frame and poster in my room and set them on the ground upside down. Just in case. So I know you made it out safely.”_

 

_May didn’t want to agree to the plan. That would mean she would be accepting the fact that something serious could happen to the only person she has left in her life. Peter’s life could be in danger and all she would do is run. But Peter would never forgive himself if she didn’t._

 

_“Where would I go?”_

 

_“Anywhere away from Queens. Anywhere you know it’s safe._

 

_* * * * *_

 

“We found your room like this. We couldn’t find your aunt, I’m s-“

 

“She’s safe.”

 

“I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”

 

“We set up an escape plan for each other. She set down all the picture frames to let me know she’s safe. She’s supposed to leave the apartment if I don’t show up to check in with her in over a day.”

 

“You knew something like this would happen?”

 

“Well, not exactly. I knew that living a double life would come with consequences, and because of some mistakes I made in the past.. I realized I needed to keep my aunt safe from myself.”

 

“Hm. I guess I underestimated you, Peter. That was a smart move. We assumed someone had made it to your apartment and searched your room since we hadn’t found her. Your aunt must be good at hiding.”

 

“How long have I been… gone?”

 

“Remember what I said about questions earlier? That still applies.”

 

“Wha- But you just answered some-“

 

“Ah, ah, ah! No more!”

 

“Dude! I mean- Shuri-“

 

“Seriously, Peter, you don’t need to be formal with me. I’ve had enough of formalities, being the youngest here. It’s disgusting, really.”

 

Peter smiled. “Well, good thing I’m here now, huh? You and I are about the same age”

 

“Yes.” She returned the smile, but it faded quickly when she noticed Peter tense and turn towards the spiral staircase and the center of the room. Shuri’s bracelet beeped and the sound of footsteps became apparent to her as her brother entered the room.

 

“Don’t worry, it’s just T’Challa.”

 

“T’Challa, as in _King_ T’Challa? _He’s here?_ ” Peter whispered harshly, nervousness apparent in his tone.

 

“You seem more nervous to meet him than you did with me. Should I be offended?” She joked.

 

“What? N-No I just- It was a lot easier meeting you without knowing it. Oh God, I’m gonna mess this up-”

 

“Good morning, Peter.” T’Challa nodded at him, offering a warm smile.

 

“H-Hi, Mr. Highness- uh, King T’Challa sir- Oh, shit.”

 

“Uh, T’Challa is fine.” He responded awkwardly, and Shuri snickered before reaching her hand out to T’Challa for a handshake, which consisted of a high five followed by the signature Wakanda salute.

 

“I told you we didn’t need any of the dora to guard the room for this one. He’s been up for some time now. Apparently, he’s a fan of my work, isn’t that right, Peter?”

 

“Uhh-”

 

“As am I. My sister has made some useful… things.”

 

“Useful things? Really, brother? They’re more than just _things_ , you know." She sighed. "It is so refreshing to have someone of my own age around here for once."

 

“Ah, you know what I mean. Anyways, allow me to properly introduce myself. My name is T’Challa, King of Wakanda. How much has Shuri told you?”

 

“Uh, I know that I’m in Wakanda now, I think, and that I’m not allowed to ask questions, apparently-”

 

“Yet you asked regardless-”

 

“And I also know that you guys help people who escape the Raft.”

 

“Well, not exactly.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“We break people out of the Raft. Those who are deserving of being free, that is. You are one of those people. Were, I mean.”

 

“What?”

 

“You see, when Captain Rogers helped his team escape the Raft, you were detained soon after. After gaining information about who you were and why you were there, Rogers and I had begun to form a plan.”

 

“Captain America is here? And.. you guys were gonna break me out…”

  
“Correct. Somehow, however, you managed to break out yourself.” T’Challa sits down next to Peter and leans forward. “We want to know how.”

 

_Peter’s screams filled the cell with every escape attempt he had made._

 

_It started with a slight touch against the cell window. The action itself was harmless but the pain that followed said otherwise._

 

_Then he tried breaking the glass days later._

 

_Then he tried picking the collar._

 

_He tried making a run for it everytime they brought him out of his cell._

 

_He tried fighting the guards._

 

_He tried._

 

_Over._

 

“Peter?”

 

_And over._

 

“What’s wrong with him?”

 

_And over._

 

“He’s hyperventilating, I think he’s-”

 

_And over._

 

“We should have waited! Breathe, Peter-”

 

_And over again._

 

_Each attempt failed. So he gave up. He thought out a plan. He waited. He kept waiting and waiting. He couldn’t stand the constant buzz in the back of his head, warning him of the danger surrounding him. He couldn’t stand the constant schedule of waking up, eating, pain, eat again, and sleep. Then repeat. Blotches of crimson were splattered across the floor and the walls and he watched them dry and become solid and brown, day after day after day after day after-_

 

Peter’s hands gripped around the collar, unable to breathe. Tears rolled down his face.

  
  


————————————————————————

 

It took almost ten minutes to pull Peter out of what seemed to be a panic attack. Shuri and T’Challa’s attempts to calm him down failed terribly, until they were fortunate enough to find Nakia entering in the lab to check in. She managed to calm Peter down, reminding him to breathe slowly and describing his surroundings to keep him grounded. Shuri asked T’challa to leave the lab after that, insisting that Peter needed to rest without being questioned about his time in the Raft. Based on Peter’s _response_ , it seemed clear that his escape hadn’t been easy.

 

Shuri knew her brother had no bad intentions, though they should have known better. The question must have brought back memories, ones that will be impossible for Peter to forget. Though she is able to help him heal physically, the toll on his mental health was forgotten completely. Shuri now knew, however, that they were going to take this process slow. T’Challa was in a rush to figure out how he escaped in order to help more prisoners do the same, but if Peter wasn’t ready to speak, that was more than fine with her. Their _team_ can continue the same procedure they’ve been following in the past to break prisoners out.

 

Speaking of which, Shuri decided that it was best if they didn’t speak of who else was hiding out in Wakanda. The boy should be given time to heal, as she explained to T’Challa, before being sent back out into the world to deal with more Accords related issues.

 

Shuri personally hated dealing with the Accords, and dealing with it trauma? She couldn’t imagine it. Maybe it’s time to visit California again.. Have a nice vacation to hersel-

 

“Shuri.” Nakia said, leaving Peter’s side to speak to Shuri.

 

“Hm?” She responded, shoving the thought away.

 

“He asked to be alone.”

 

“We can’t leave someone we barely know unattended in my lab.”

 

“And we can’t ask a dora to watch him, that would freak him out more.”

 

“So you can stay with him.” Shuri concluded.

 

“What? No, you stay with him. I have things to do.” Nakia scoffed.

 

“No, no, no, _I_ have things to do as well. You think I want to spend my precious time watching this white boy?”

 

“What makes you think I would?” Nakia asked, and their harmless bickering continued until they were interrupted by a soft snore that came from the corner of the room.

 

They both looked at Peter at the same time, only to notice him sleeping in a sitting position, legs dangling off the bedside and his body leaning against the risen half of the bed with his face squished on the cold vibranium of the beds surface.

 

“You know what I’m thinking?”

 

“What?” Nakia questions.

 

“Does this boy _really_ look like a threat to you?”

 

“Not exactly.”

 

“Well, then, I say we just leave him here.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Do you copy?_ ”

 

“We’ve got eyes on it now, we’re waiting currently. ‘Boutta go in soon.”

 

“ _Stop the mission. Get out of there._ ”

 

“Is there a problem?”

 

“ _I guess you could say that, but yes, there is a bit of a complication._ ”

 

“Cap? You might wanna hear this.”

 

The rest of the members on the ship gather around, listening for their next instructions.

 

“ _Is the Captain there?”_

 

“Speaking.”

 

_“The mission was to grab the asset and bring it back to base, correct?”_

 

“Yes.. Your point?”

 

“ _We have the asset.”_

 

“I’m sorry, _what?_ ” Another voice cut in.

 

“ _The asset is here. We need you back immediately. We’ll explain when you return.”_

 

 _“_ We’re on our way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** this note was added on july 17, 2019:
> 
> hi, just here to say i'm currently focusing on my 'on the run' fic so this story might not get as many updates since i wanna complete that one to focus my full attention on this one later. occasionally i might add in another chapter here if i don't feel like working on my other fic, but for now i'm gonna take a break from this one and once the 'on the run' fic is done i'll come back and update this more often again. so, if you want, i recommend reading my other fic in the meantime! also i'm not planning on abandoning this fic, so don't worry about that. sorry for keeping you guys waiting for so much time :( ily


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